A Snake In the Grass, A Wolf At the Door
by black.k.kat
Summary: Orochimaru is on the edge of breaking when someone unexpected pulls him back to solid ground. When the time comes, he returns the favor. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Dedication: **To the most awesome person to ever even consider being awesome, because you are the sole reason writer's block has not yet sunk its evil, grasping claws into me—and also because of your eternal enthusiasm and good humor in the face of my insanity. **EmeraldBenu, **this one's entirely for you. I have so much love for your incredible brain. ;)

**Rating: **R-ish

**Warnings: **Bad language, minor character death (with slight blood and gore stuff), vague hints of plot, my interpretation of Orochimaru, etc.

**Word Count: **~6700

**Pairings: **faint Jiraiya/Orochimaru, mention of Sakumo/canonical wife…for now. (Let's call that subject to change.)

**Summary: **Orochimaru is on the edge of breaking when someone unexpected pulls him back to solid ground. When the time comes, he returns the favor. Slash.

**Disclaimer:** Hah. I want some of whatever Kishimoto's been smoking, but Naruto's not mine.

**Notes:** EmeraldBenu and I have been tossing Sakumo-centric ideas around for a while now, and this is what came out. If anyone questions my sanity regarding my interpretation of Orochimaru's character, there's an explanation up on my profile. Or my LiveJournal, if you're willing to brave my uncensored weirdness over there.

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><p><em><span><strong>A Snake In the Grass, A Wolf At the Door<strong>_

_**Chapter One**_

(It's Sakumo who saves him, in the end.)

Twenty-four years old and Orochimaru is already sick of everything. Twenty-four and he's alone again, as alone as he was the day of his parents' death, in a village where people whisper about him and shy away from him and call him evil just slightly too loud for subtlety. Jiraiya is off with his orphans, atoning for all the things that aren't his fault in war-torn Ame. Tsunade is gone, too, broken by Dan's death and changed into something bitter and fallen.

Orochimaru hardly even recognizes her anymore.

He cared for Dan as well, counted him as one of his few honest friends—three of them, he had, and now he has none. None at all, no team to guard his back or distract him from the hissed whispers, no one to draw him back from the edge of obsessive madness, pull him away from his experiments and remind him to eat. No one to hover beside him and remind him how to be human, how to interact with actual people rather than targets to be killed.

Orochimaru has no one now, and it is a furious, bitter ache within him, this abandonment.

He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and opens them. One more bloody battlefield, yet another mission. His squad has been called for backup, and once upon a time he would have come with Jiraiya and Tsunade at his side, one of the Legendary Three who needed no other introduction, but not now. Now he is stuck leading a ragtag group with no love for him, who look upon him with fear in their eyes and then quickly look away.

But teamwork is something Orochimaru knows, even when the rest of his attempts to act like a sociable being fail completely, and so he steps in, blocks three kunai before they can reach the medic-nin—a poor one, and not just in comparison to Tsunade—and snatches an exploding tag right out of the air in a whirl of movement to fling it back at the missing-nin surrounding them. The detonation shakes the forest around them, steals Orochimaru's hearing for a few precious seconds as he spins, catching a heavy halberd on the flat of Kusanagi's blade. The man wielding it bares teeth at him, and Orochimaru bares them right back, twisting to slam a foot into his opponent's gut.

_Vicious_, Tsunade always called him, in combat. _Practical_, Orochimaru always countered. _An all-around bastard_, was Jiraiya's contribution, with a grudging, _but handy to have in a fight_ usually tacked on to the end.

Another nin in front of him, a scarred woman with a sword, but Orochimaru flashes through hand signs and hurls her away with a hurricane-force wind, sending her crashing back into the trees. Another man, and another, a flurry of kunai aimed at his back, and if he didn't know better Orochimaru would assume _he_ was the target here, rather than the unconscious dignitary currently convalescing under the medic's mediocre eye.

He whistles the signal for _surround_ and then _defend, _and falls into place even as his squad and the remainder of the original—under Hatake, if Orochimaru remembers the mission briefing right, and of course he does—fall back and form a perimeter. There are more missing-nin emerging from the trees, more and more, all ragged and scarred and ruthless, their eyes desperate and dark. Far more here than any of the reports guessed at, and all gathered to kidnap a relatively minor member of the Daimyo's court. It's…suspicious.

But even outnumbered two to one, Konoha shinobi are still Konoha shinobi, and regardless of anything else, Orochimaru can still take pride in that, in the way his squad holds the enemy off, firm and settled, unwavering in the face of their reckless charge. He blocks a sword—sloppy kenjutsu, easy to outmaneuver—then half-turns and hurls a kunai into the back of kunoichi, one of a pair trying to overwhelm the youngest squad member. Another twist, an earth jutsu, and never has Orochimaru regretted his lack of skill with fire more, because it he knew enough, if he had been skilled enough for Sarutobi to teach him the Fire Dragon Flame Bullet the way he taught Jiraiya, this fight would already be over. But in the end it's one more thing to set him apart in Konoha, in Fire Country as a whole, and none of those with him have the strength for more than a few paltry close-combat jutsus.

Another man throws himself at Orochimaru, wielding a spear with startling deftness, and Orochimaru meets him, a disgusted huff slipping out before he can contain it. There are too many missing-nin, a good portion of them likely jounin-level, and he has no idea how this could have been missed, how any Intelligence officer worthy of the name could not have _seen _this. He knocks away the spear, ducks a kunai that skims past his ear, and strikes out to fend off yet another missing-nin who comes at his right side. And then—

Maybe it's an accident, a moment of carelessness in the face of battle. Or maybe it's deliberate, a conscious decision. Orochimaru only half-sees it, and can't be certain, though even now, even with this, he doesn't want to believe it's the latter. Doesn't want to, because always, _always_ Konoha has focused on teamwork and comrades and putting other's lives above one's own, and—

Behind Orochimaru, where the circle is thinnest, the shinobi most widely spaced, the tokubetsu jounin on guard there lets one more missing-nin slip through the gap. The woman wastes no time, but lunges with her sword-point leading, and Orochimaru is entirely hemmed in by two jounin-level opponents, unable to get away or move to counter the tantō aimed at his back. She's too close for him to even attempt to dodge, and Orochimaru sets his teeth, bracing for the pain.

_Is this how I will die? _he thinks, grim and bitter and entirely, morbidly amused at the irony. _Betrayed by those I would not let die?_

But instead of the white-hot stab of a blade through his spine, what he feels is the impact of a heavy body against his back, and what he hears is a pained and breathless grunt. There's no time to contemplate it, and Orochimaru _moves_, as quick as a striking snake, taking this opportunity while both of his opponents are frozen in surprise. He beheads the spearman, Kusanagi slicing through bone and muscle and sinew as simply as if it were rice paper, and twists to slam a hand against the second's sternum, a seal blooming beneath his palm that makes the man scream and fall lifeless to the ground.

There's a cry around him, a chaotic sort of retreat as the missing-nin bolt for the cover of the nighttime trees, and Orochimaru raises his voice before any of the Konoha shinobi can rush after them. "Hold!" he calls, even as he turns around. That will be a job for another squad, at another time. They were sent here as backup and retrieval only, and are unprepared for a manhunt in the dark.

Whatever else he might have to say, though, is stolen from his throat as he finally understands the last few seconds of the battle. It escapes him in a curse, learned from Jiraiya and sharp enough to make the little Hyuuga kunoichi across the circle wince, but he ignores the lapse in propriety as he sheathes Kusanagi and drops to his knees beside the silver-haired man.

"Hatake," he says, voice flat with surprise, and despite the stab wound in his gut, the other man offers him a pained smile.

"Orochimaru," he responds, breathless and rough.

It takes effort not to roll his eyes, despite the situation. Hatake Sakumo is one of those relentlessly cheerful people, forever sporting a smile regardless of what's happened to him. Orochimaru narrows his eyes at the wound, gaping and most certainly mortal if left untreated, then takes a quick glance over at their medic, who's still frantically trying to stop the nobleman's bleeding. There will be no help from that quarter, clearly, and Hatake's squad is down several shinobi, one of them likely their own medic. Orochimaru is no healer, but after nearly twenty years on a team with Tsunade, he understands the basics.

"Don't move," he warns the other jounin, deft hands quickly opening his flak jacket and carefully raising his shirt. Hatake makes a noise like he wants to comment, likely something inappropriate given the man's passing friendship with Jiraiya, but Orochimaru ignores him with the ease of having grown up with the self-declared Super Pervert and calls up his chakra, letting it bleed pale green as he channels it into a medical jutsu. He halfway expects Hatake to flinch the way most people do at the feel of his power, oppressive and dark and overwhelming, but there's no movement. Probably because the man's in agony, he reminds himself, watching the wound begin to close. Slowly, slowly, and Tsunade would have been done before he even started, but Orochimaru is a killer and healing hardly comes naturally to him.

It is…startling, that Hatake took that blow for him. Startling and unnerving, though Orochimaru is hardly going to show it. He's still reeling from the small betrayal before—or the large one, though he hopes beyond all hope that it was simply a mistake, an oversight—and the juxtaposition of that against Hatake's actions is almost too much to think about.

"You're a fool," he tells the other man, once he's sure that the wound is nearly closed and all possibility of infection or poison burned out. "Save your ridiculous noble gestures. Don't you have a son to think of?"

That makes Hatake smile, regardless of the paleness of his face. "That I do," he says cheerfully, though it rasps slightly in his throat. "Kakashi. Barely a year old, but he's going to be a great shinobi someday, I can tell." He reaches up, pats Orochimaru's arm awkwardly as he tips his head back and closes his eyes again. "But we're supposed to defend our teammates with our lives, Orochimaru. You know that. You _do_ that, leaving yourself open just to take out a few extra opponents even when they're not yours. How could I do anything less?"

It's said just loudly enough to carry without sounding like it was meant to, and out of the corner of his eye Orochimaru sees the tokujo who'd been behind him tense. Several of the other squad members are looking at the man now, warily distant with caution in their eyes, and once more Orochimaru wonders if his actions were accidental or on purpose. This entire mission, with its incomplete and often plainly incorrect intelligence, is suspect, though Orochimaru can't imagine the purpose of sending two high-ranking squads into a trap. Can't imagine what purpose someone in Konoha would have in targeting _him_. He's hardly popular, but he also knows it's not conceit to think that he's one of Konoha's most powerful weapons.

He strangles a sigh, shutting that line of though away for later consideration, and repeats, "You're a fool," though the tone isn't nearly as sharp as he'd like it to be.

Hatake just grins at him, the expression so similar to Jiraiya's that it sends a pang through Orochimaru. He shuts that away, too, because pining is so utterly undignified, and settles back on his heels, letting his chakra fade. It's telling, perhaps, that he's more out of breath from five minutes of healing than he was from almost an hour of killing, but he's not Tsunade. He never will be. She and Jiraiya are gone, and he's been left behind, the killer, the monster, the shadow to their light.

"Do not," he warns Hatake sharply as the other man starts to move, shoving those thoughts down as well, "undo my work. I won't care if you reopen that through stupidity."

Hatake simply laughs, of course, and sits up gingerly, pressing a hand against his stomach for a moment before making to rise. Orochimaru really does roll his eyes this time, because he _definitely_ can see the similarities to his absentee teammate in this man, and grudgingly offers him a hand. Hatake takes, broad and calloused hand closing almost carefully around Orochimaru's more delicate, long-fingered one, and lets the Sannin pull him to his feet. Once he's steady, he claps Orochimaru on the shoulder, murmurs, "Thank you," and heads for his second in command on the far side of the clearing.

Orochimaru watches him go, sharp eyes studying the pained shortness to his movements, but doesn't say anything. They're all shinobi here, after all, well aware of their own limits but forever pushing past them anyway. Instead, he flexes his fingers once—a single show of absentmindedness, one tiny second of weakness—and then makes his way over to the medic-nin, who's still trying to wake the nobleman. He'll be recommending she return to training as soon as they get back, before she can go out with another squad that doesn't have a Sannin or Konoha's White Fang in charge and get them all killed through incompetency.

"Move," he orders, sharp and uncaring that she flinches, and takes her place as she scurries away. The dignitary's head wound is deep, and Orochimaru suspects that the man will come out of it without any memories of his incident, which is perhaps for the better. Still, it's easy enough to put him into a light coma, to be broken by an actual medic-nin when they return to Konoha, and then stop the bleeding. There's no need to strain himself to wake the man when he'll just slow down their return.

There's a pause as he sits back on his heels, and then light steps to his side. Orochimaru glances up to see the Hyuuga kunoichi approaching, looking resolute. He raises a brow at her, then glances around the clearing for his second, who should be the one reporting.

"Matsuoka was wounded," she says, kneeling beside him with a brief dip of her head. "I have seniority, so I thought to take over his duties. I apologize for my presumption, sir."

Orochimaru waves her contrition away. He doesn't mind those under him taking the initiative; it's a sign of a dedicated shinobi. "Casualties?" he asks instead.

She answers unhesitatingly. "Three wounded—Matsuoka, Hagane, and Yamanaka. No fatalities, but Hagane will be in recovery for a while. Hatake's squad lost four, and the rest all have at least minor injuries, though all but one is mobile. And…" She hesitates, looking briefly uncertain, and then forges on regardless. "I'm going to recommend that Sato be put on suspension for his actions, pending demotion if it was…deliberate. I think Hatake will support the decision." Her pale eyes are wary, but steady as she meets Orochimaru's.

Orochimaru simply blinks at her for a moment, caught flat-footed by the notion that someone is trying—unnecessarily, perhaps, but still _trying_—to defend him. Uncertain of how to respond—because this is the point, in conversation, where Jiraiya or Tsunade always took over for him, to spare him the awkwardness of interacting with others when he has absolutely no idea what to say—he settles for a brief nod and then rises to his feet, the Hyuuga following a moment later. "Prepare to move out," he orders. "Organize stretchers for those who can't walk. I want us on our way back before the enemy can regroup."

"Yes, sir!" She bows, then hurries away, calling out names. Orochimaru watches for another second to make sure she won't have trouble—there is little he likes less than petty jockeying for authority and position, at least when it's not something he can use—and then turns to scan their surroundings.

The moon is high above them, a bare sliver of silver, and the forest around them only deepens the shadows. It's old and thick and overgrown, the only safe and unimpeded path through the branches, but that will be difficult if they're carrying their wounded along. Orochimaru has little loyalty to other people beyond his village, and less for those who are helpless and weak, but it's been beaten into his head since he was five years old that one simply _does_ _not_ leave a teammate behind, regardless of the risk. It's a part of Konoha's being, written into its very bones, and Orochimaru can respect that above all else.

It's one of the reasons those whispers in the village drive him so very close to the brink of madness, he thinks, because _he_ is loyal, so why can't they see that? Why can't they return it? All his life he's been told of Konoha shinobi and their loyalty, but has only ever drifted around the outskirts of it, the bare fringes. Jiraiya and Tsunade gave him loyalty, but they abandoned him, so it obviously wasn't enough.

Clearly, there is something wrong with him, that for all his great deeds he can't inspire even a fraction of what Sarutobi does. Not even the barest bit, and it _aches_. It makes him _angry_, and now there is no Jiraiya to redirect his rage, no Tsunade to soothe it with a few wise words or a touch of gentle teasing.

_Abandoned_, Orochimaru thinks, and has to consciously keep his hands from fisting. Two years now, two whole years alone and furious and entirely lost, and he still can't stop thinking about it, _obsessing_ over it. When he throws himself into his experiments, it is at the least a little distant, but…

But the problem is that he doesn't _want_ to forget Jiraiya and Tsunade. They are his teammates, the only family he has left beyond Sarutobi, who is too busy for casual visits. They are _his_, and if Orochimaru knows anything about himself it is that he is obsessive and rapacious, as possessive as a snake guarding its nest. Letting go is all but impossible for him.

With a contained sigh, Orochimaru reaches up and tugs gently on one of his tomoe-shaped earrings, a gift from Jiraiya on his fifteenth birthday. A gag gift, actually, and there is little sweeter than the memory of Jiraiya's face when Orochimaru turned up at their practice session the next day actually _wearing_ them. He'd brushed his hair to the side to show them off and smiled at Jiraiya, fluttered his lashes slightly just to see the blood drain from the other boy's face at the realization that his joke had backfired. _Does this mean we're going steady_? he'd asked, making his voice high and breathless, and Tsunade had fallen over laughing as Jiraiya spluttered and choked.

(Orochimaru wonders if Jiraiya has noticed the fact that he's has never taken them off.

Probably not, or if he has, he's likely dismissed it as meaningless.)

He sinks his teeth into his thumb until he tastes blood, then smears it over the tattoo on his arm, calling up three of his summons. Not Manda, as that would most definitely be overkill in this situation, and would result in a cranky snake boss attempting to eat him, but several of the smaller females, deadly and poisonous and breathtakingly beautiful. They coil around his feet, as thick around as his waist and twice as long as he is tall, poison-green and red-and-yellow-banded and midnight-black, and Orochimaru strokes his hands over what he can reach of them, then murmurs, "Off with you, my beauties. Watch the perimeter."

They go with only the faint rasp of scales across the ground, and Orochimaru turns back to the squads, only to find himself the subject of Hatake's stare, dark eyes watching him with interest and no little intrigue.

"Yes?" Orochimaru asks evenly, though he doesn't like it, this feeling of _vulnerability_ that comes from someone seeing his softer side, what little there is of it. It's only even been witnessed by his former teammates and sensei, honestly, and Orochimaru thinks that even if Hatake were to shout it from the rooftops not a soul in Konoha would believe that Orochimaru even has one. He's tried his best to keep it that way, after all, fighting in a war that even now lurks just beneath the surface of his thoughts. Conflicts like that don't leave the psyche so easily, and they leave one wary of any openings.

But Hatake simply smiles at him, bright and warm, and doesn't address the matter. "We're ready to go," is all he says.

Orochimaru nods in return, though his skin crawls faintly under the older man's gaze, and steps away. "My snakes will guard our flanks," he says. "I recommend Hyuuga Himawari take point, and I take the rear." He does not defer to many people—Sarutobi, actually, is the only one he can think of, and to a lesser extent Sarutobi's teammate Utatane Koharu, who was a friend of his mother—but Hatake is five years his elder and his superior in terms of seniority. It still galls him, but less than it likely would doing the same to someone else.

Hatake nods easily. "Works for me," he says cheerfully, then calls the squads together with a whistle and bounds over to where the Hyuuga is crouched next to Hagane's stretcher. Orochimaru doesn't wait to witness their conversation; he steps away, fades back into the trees the way he's been trained to, and opens his senses. There's only silence, but that makes him more wary still. The missing-nin were skilled, but not enough to hide themselves completely, or get out of range so quickly. It is almost as if—

Almost as if they were holding back. Or perhaps aiming for a specific target and using a show of incompetency to get close.

Orochimaru frowns deeply. He knows himself to be fairly conceited, but in this case he doubts it's arrogance to think that he was targeted more than anyone else—more than the dignitary they were supposed to be kidnapping, even. It was only down to his own skill and Hatake's sacrifice that he came through unscathed, because Orochimaru remembers quite clearly that he faced almost twice the number anyone else did. They came at _him_, even before Sato let that kunoichi through.

Perhaps, had that attack gotten through—even if it had only wounded him, rather than crippling him as was clearly intended—Orochimaru would be in too much pain to think of this. Perhaps he would be caught up in his rage and sense of betrayal, but Hatake saved him from that, and Orochimaru is not called a genius for nothing. His mind is working quickly, slotting the few pieces he has together into one portion of a picture. It was a manipulation, clearly, though Orochimaru can't figure out the expected outcome. His death? His anger? Perhaps someone thought he would be angry enough to kill Sato for the slip, which would leave him disgraced, to never again lead a squad.

Bad intelligence, an enemy in greater numbers than anyone could have expected, opponents better equipped than they should have been, a kidnapping victim who wasn't the real target, a perfectly timed moment of carelessness, and an unknown aim focused on Orochimaru. He doesn't like this. Not at all.

Kiyohime, his black-scaled summons, slides out of the darkness to slither beside him as he walks. She's always been the most attentive of his snakes, always remaining close at hand when he calls her, and he thinks that this must be what loyalty is like, her unwavering attention and care.

"Did you find anything?" he asks, dropping a hand to Kusanagi and shifting his attention to the squad a few hundred meters in front of them. No change there, just steady movement, aggravatingly slow in deference to the wounded.

There's a moment of thought, and then Kiyohime huffs softly. "A rabbit," she responds. "And several birds. But there are no humans beyond yours, Orochimaru-sama."

_Not mine_, Orochimaru almost says, but then Kiyohime will want to know if she can eat them, and Orochimaru is in no mood to spend the next hour explaining why she can't. He usually appreciates that his summons are as bloodthirsty as he himself is, but his patience is short today.

"Thank you," he says instead, and can't help the quirk of his lips at the thought of what Jiraiya would say if he heard that, as the Toad Sage maintains that Orochimaru has never said it to anyone, ever, without some form of sarcasm involved. "If anyone attacks us, you may eat them."

That gets him a pleased hiss, and Kiyohime slithers away into the bushes, likely to share the good news with her sisters. Orochimaru watches her go with fondness, though he knows he hides it well. But the snakes he calls are a legacy from his parents, his mother in particular. When he was a toddler and she was called away, she would summon a snake to watch him. Kiyohime, often, or Oyotsu, a soft-spoken white snake. They are Orochimaru's now to call, to use, to fight alongside, and they at the least won't betray or abandon him.

Orochimaru simply wishes that the rest of his teammates could be the same.

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><p>Orochimaru knows his standing in the village as a whole—he is orphan prodigy genius freak monster, with all the burdens those words imply. For this reason, it's rare for him to venture out in public, now that his buffers of Tsunade and Jiraiya have vanished like so much tragic, anguish-ridden smoke. And as the shinobi manage to be even worse than the villagers, most of the time, it's even rarer for him to brave the stares and flinches and whispers of the Jounin Standby Station, forever populated with the higher ranks just about to go on duty or just coming off of it.<p>

But for some things, Orochimaru will endure it. And despite his misgivings about last week's mission, Hatake Sakumo spoke up when most others would have remained silent. Doubtless it was his words that spurred Hyuuga Himawari—a Main Branch member of her clan, but quiet and reserved—to take a stand in turn, and Orochimaru must be…grateful for that. Appreciative, if only in some small way, because the last time such a thing happened was before Jiraiya left.

(_Debt,_ he thinks. _Honor, obligation. What would Tsunade do?_)

(How many times has he asked himself that, interacting with the rest of humanity? How many times has it saved him?)

People flinch as he steps into the comfortable room, no matter how tightly he contains his chakra or how innocuous he has made himself in a simple dark grey yukata. Orochimaru ignores them, as he always does, and folds his hands into the sleeves of his robe as he surveys the room. There, in the corner, is the head of wild silver hair he came here seeking, and he lets out an inaudible breath of relief that Hatake is present as he sweeps across the room. It's easy enough to sneer at the fear these morons feel when he's just passing through, when there's no reason to keep him, but enduring is harder. Not _impossible_, given that his family, with their corrosive, unsettling chakra and affinity for snakes, has always stood somewhat apart, but it still sets Orochimaru's teeth on edge after too long. _A bad-tempered bastard_, Jiraiya always called him, after too long spent in a crowd, or even on the fringes of one. _Testy_, was Tsunade's choice of words.

(How long will it be, he wonders, before he stops defining himself in their terms? How long will it be until he can escape the pull of them, his personal betrayers? How long, and what will he have to suffer to carve them out of his heart completely?)

"Orochimaru!" Hatake's voice is bright and warm and welcoming, everything Orochimaru is unused to, and it snaps him out of his thoughts almost instantly. The older man is on his feet, grinning at him, and Orochimaru has to force himself not to falter in the face of it.

"Hatake," he answers after a beat, inclining his head. "I trust your wound is not troubling you anymore?"

Hatake's smile, too, is easygoing and open. "Not in the least," he affirms cheerfully. "The medics were impressed with your skill. Most jounin can't manage anything close to what you did, if they can even heal at all."

Despite himself, Orochimaru smiles faintly at that. "Tsunade was…insistent that Jiraiya and I learn at least the basics, before she would let us go off on solo missions," he explains, and can't quite manage to keep the thread of fondness out of his voice. A lost cause, really, because even if they're gone, they stayed for eighteen years, and that's longer than anyone has but Sarutobi, who is so busy as Hokage that he hardly counts.

When he looks up again, though, Hatake is watching him with an odd expression, one that Orochimaru can't read. Not anything negative, which is almost startling, but just…inscrutable. It's getting to be a habit with him, it seems, and Orochimaru isn't certain whether he should feel unnerved or not.

He meets Hatake's grey eyes squarely nevertheless, inclines his head politely, and murmurs, "I am relieved there were no complications."

Hatake smiles, but that contemplative look doesn't waver, even as he opens his mouth to say something. Before he can, Orochimaru steels himself, gathers his dignity up around himself like a cloak, and turns on his heel, sweeping out of the Station without looking at anyone else. It's not…fleeing. Not exactly. He's just—

Busy. He's busy and otherwise occupied and has experiments that need to be overseen, and he has no time to waste even with the likes of Hatake Sakumo.

* * *

><p>Sakumo sighs as he steps into his darkened house, pressing a hand against his stomach and the faint ache still lingering there. He hadn't lied to Orochimaru—he's healed, more or less, and the medics hardly had to do anything, given how much chakra the other man poured into healing him—but it's hard for a body without some sort of healing bloodline to bounce back so quickly. He'll be sore for a while yet.<p>

But not dead, and that can be attributed solely to Konoha's own Sannin.

It had been instinct to take that blow meant for Orochimaru—Sakumo hadn't even realized he'd done it until he'd been on the ground with Orochimaru kneeling beside him, stiff and bewildered. Automatic, to guard a comrade's back even at the cost of his own, but Orochimaru's reaction clearly said that he expected only agony or death when he couldn't meet that blow.

Sakumo will admit that he's never paid much attention to the younger man, beyond a vague sort of acknowledgement of the Densetsu no Sannin's collective skills. _The greatest of their generation_, people call them, but Sakumo has always tuned such things out, skeptical and more trusting of his own eyes than any sort of rumors. He knows their genius when alone, had fought in the war with each of them at one time or another, but to be called _the Legendary Three_ is another matter entirely. It speaks to teamwork, to being better together than they are apart, and Sakumo has yet to see evidence of that. Indeed, the only one left in the village, the only one who actually stayed to fulfil his duties, is Orochimaru.

The light is off in the nursery. Mindful of the nurse sleeping in the connecting room, Sakumo leaves it that way, crossing the floor with silent steps to stand beside the small bed. Kakashi is asleep as well, curled up tightly and clutching stuffed dog. Sakumo feels something simultaneously tighten and melt in his chest, and reaches out to carefully smooth that flyaway silver hair. The loss of his wife in childbirth is still an open ache even thirteen months later, unhealed and untampered. She was so beautiful, so kind, and Sakumo has little to no idea of how he's going to make it through the rest of his life without her. No idea how Kakashi will fare, raised by a man who has only ever been a shinobi, only ever _wanted_ to be a shinobi.

The Hatake clan was great, once. Strong and numerous and very, very proud. But the Clan Wars devastated them, and now Sakumo and Kakashi are the only ones left. And people have forgotten that the Hatake Clan was a clan like any other, similar to the Inuzuka but wilder, wolves instead of domesticated dogs. They have their own traits, their own little differences from everyone else in mindset and in abilities, and the largest of those is considering their families pack.

But gone are the days when Sakumo's pack was ten strong, or even five strong. Now it's him and his infant son and no one else in the world who will ever understand them completely.

He leans down and brushes a kiss over Kakashi's forehead, soft and sad and fond, and then slips out of the nursery. By all rights, he should be sleeping already, exhausted, but instead his mind has been caught by an enigma, a question, and in this Sakumo knows he is very much like his summons—once he gets his teeth in a bone, just like a wolf, he won't let go until he's satisfied.

In his mind's eye he can see Orochimaru as he was on the mission, ruthless and cunning among the shadows, light sliding off his long black hair like it couldn't bear to touch such darkness. Many of the other shinobi shied away from him, especially when he called up his summons, and that makes Sakumo remember that Orochimaru, too, is the last of his clan. An old clan, even older than the Hatake if he remembers correctly, but always small. One or two families, all of them bearing Orochimaru's particular brand of slightly otherworldly looks, metallic eyes and pale skin and dark hair. Hashirama was the one to bring them into the village, well after Konoha was established, but even so they've always stood apart.

But, Sakumo wonders, letting himself out into the back garden and settling on the porch stairs, how much of that is their choice, and how much is prejudice? Because he saw Orochimaru's face in the Standby Station, saw the sudden, unexpected flicker of _life_ that came over his determinedly neutral features when he spoke of Tsunade, of Jiraiya. And how must it feel, to be on a team so close it's practically a pack of its own, and then be abandoned? Sakumo, at least, lost his pack to death and time and a shinobi's life, but Orochimaru lost his to their own choices. Choices that led them to leave him behind, on his own in a village that cares only for his abilities as a weapon, and fears him for the same reason.

Sakumo has seen Orochimaru covered in blood and gore, has seen him fight with absolutely no attention paid to morals or decency or any such things, has seen the aftermath of a battlefield that looks closer to a massacre when the man is through, but…

But that was always the enemy. Never has Sakumo seen Orochimaru turn his fearsome ability to kill and destroy on even the most tentative of allies. His village is _his_, and everyone else is disregarded, like they're less than human. Perhaps it's a mental disorder; perhaps it's just the way Orochimaru was made. But either way, he knows loyalty. He understands pack and what it means. There are few enough people in the village who do, and Sakumo isn't about to let one of the only ones who does, and who happens to be in the same position as Sakumo, slip through his fingers.

He smiles to himself, laughs up at the heavy moon hanging above the peaceful garden, and relaxes in the warm night breeze. Whether Orochimaru likes it or not, he just gained a friend. A packmate. And now Sakumo has someone to focus on, someone to protect, like a lone wolf given a purpose again at long last.

A pack of three. That sounds…just about right.

* * *

><p>Orochimaru is on his way to his lab, because there is nothing else for him, nothing and no one and at least there his loneliness is buried in work and formulas and a way beyond killing to be of use. No one in the street looks at him beyond a sidewise glance before they quickly drop their eyes, and no one speaks to him, because the only three people who have ever freely done so are busy or on the other side of Fire Country. But he doesn't care, will <em>never<em> care, because giving in is the same as giving up, and if Orochimaru has any redeemable qualities at all it's his single-minded will to always win.

He is alone in a crowd, alone in a village that should be home, and—

"Orochimaru!" a bright, cheerful voice calls, just three steps behind him, and before he can turn there's an arm over his shoulders and the smell of earth and autumn in his nose, and Orochimaru blinks at Sakumo, too surprised to even throw him off.

Sakumo grins and pulls him away, off towards some unknown destination that is most certainly not his lab, and Orochimaru…

Orochimaru lets him.

He lets Sakumo drag him away with one big, calloused hand curled around his wrist, and doesn't speak of word of protest, because somehow he _knows_.

(It's Sakumo who saves him, in the end.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating: **T-ish

**Warnings: **Bad language, even vaguer hints of plot, family fluff, etc.

**Word Count: **~5400

**Pairings: **faint Jiraiya/Orochimaru, brief Sakumo/Orochimaru

**Disclaimer:** Hah. I want some of whatever Kishimoto's been smoking, but Naruto's not mine.

**Notes:** So apparently I get an unholy amount of glee out of writing bby!Kakashi, oh my god. Just—a _vast_ amount. VAST. And out of Jiraiya freaking out, it must be admitted. He's fun to torture. :P

(Also, regarding the reaction to this story: YOU GUYS BLOW MY MIND. Honestly. This is pretty much borderline crack, and I expected a handful of hits and not much else, but geez. ILU ALL, FOR REALS. Thank you so much for putting up with my weirdness, and that's not just directed at EmeraldBenu this time. [Though EmeraldBenu still gets special mention, 'cause when s/he deals with me it's the _unfiltered_ crazy.] \o/)

* * *

><p><em><span><strong>A Snake In the Grass, A Wolf At the Door<strong>_

_**Chapter Two**_

"_You_."

Sakumo looks up and just barely manages to swallow his laughter in time.

Perhaps, to anyone else, an angry Snake Sannin bearing down on them would be something out of a nightmare. But Sakumo can't do anything but grin as Orochimaru stalks up to him in the Jounin Standby Station, golden eyes narrowed in fury and his sharp-edged chakra seething around him like a tempest.

Of course, the terror of the image is slightly mitigated by the two-year-old clinging cheerfully to his shoulder.

"Cub!" Sakumo says brightly, sweeping forward to scoop up his son and toss him in the air. Kakashi laughs, waving his arms and demanding, "Again, again!" so Sakumo obliges. It gives him time to get his mirth under control so that it's safe to turn back to the other man.

Orochimaru looks entirely unimpressed, his arms crossed over his chest and a smear of whatever Kakashi was eating earlier painted across the shoulder of his fine blue robe. "Hatake," he grits out. "_Where were you_?"

Sakumo blinks innocently at his friend. "What do you mean, Orochimaru?" he asks guilelessly. "Oh! Were you trying to find me earlier? I'm sorry, I was probably in the forest. Dai and I were working on some new moves." He offers up a wide grin, because Orochimaru looks rather like some veins are about to start pulsing, and he physically _cannot resist _for even one second more.

Orochimaru snarls wordlessly at him, reaching out to pluck Kakashi from his hands. The boy goes with a cheer, latching on to Orochimaru's hair the way he always does and clinging monkey-like to his shoulder. With the ease of almost a year of practice, Orochimaru ignores him, narrowing his eyes at Sakumo. "The Hokage called me for a meeting," he bites out. "And because _you_ were off gallivanting in the woods, _I _had to endure an entire hour of Sarutobi-sensei _beaming_ at me. He has not done that since I stopped adopting wild snakes, and I was _glad of it_. Now he's going to be _insufferable_."

The grin doesn't fade. Sakumo can't force it to. He can just imagine Orochimaru as a child, caring for a clutch—nest? Pack?—of baby serpents, smiling down at them the way he sometimes does at Kakashi when he thinks no one is watching. It's an adorable image, because the Orochimaru that everyone sees is cold and terrifying and sly, and this one is…more human. More approachable. It's…good.

But the silence is growing dangerous—Sakumo can just see Orochimaru's hand starting to twitch towards his weapons pouch. To ward him off, he raises his hands defensively and aims for his best soothing tone. "Hey, hey, no need for that, lovely. I'm sorry I wasn't around, but that's why I asked you to watch the cub for me." Hearing his nickname, Kakashi looks up from where he's weaving Orochimaru's hair into knots with a serious look on his face, and Sakumo smiles at him. Kakashi beams in return, always more cheerful when he has access to his favorite adult/playmate/life-size doll, and goes back to his task.

It gives Sakumo an idea—not that he ever really needs an excuse to drag Orochimaru along on outings. "Hey!" he offers brightly. "You mentioned wanting to visit that cake shop by the market, right? My treat, to make up for the morning."

Orochimaru scowls at him. "I _expressed interest_ in the fact that they've managed to outlast most of their competition," he corrects sharply, and Sakumo rolls his eyes, because where Orochimaru is concerned that's pretty much the exact same thing. It earns him a low hiss. "_Hatake_—"

"Come on, come on." Sakumo seizes him by the elbow—prudently, on the arm that's supporting Kakashi, so that he isn't in danger of losing his hand—and tugs him along. "I've been there before. You'll like their egg custard, I think."

Orochimaru lets himself be guided, though his expression is still a mixture of aggrieved and annoyed. "You will be paying," he warns, but it lacks the acidic bite it once would have had, and Sakumo laughs.

(He's seen the way people look at Orochimaru now, as compared to how they once did. It's very, very hard to fear a man completely, even the infamous Snake Sannin, when one has seen him with a cheerful toddler bouncing on his hip, and Sakumo is entirely satisfied with the way things have turned out. This, well.

This is just about perfect.)

* * *

><p>Jiraiya strolls back into Konoha with a storm on his heels, the first drops of rain just striking the dusty ground. The gate guards wave him in with grins and cheerful welcomes home, eyes bright with something that could be either hero worship or relief, and Jiraiya waves back, winking at the pretty brunette. She rolls her eyes, but can't fight a smile, and Jiraiya saunters off with a whistle because, yeah, still got it. Even after three years in the wilderness with a couple of kids.<p>

Nagato, Konan, and Yahiko—they're going to be fine. More than fine. Jiraiya trained them himself, knows what they can do. More than that, he knows what they're capable of, what changes they'll be able to make. They're ready to follow their own dreams, to find their own path, and Jiraiya's ready to return to his regular life. Or, well, as regular as a shinobi's life ever can be.

Konoha is still the same, he sees with vague relief, if somewhat brighter than before. There's less of a war-shadow hanging over the place, and the people look happier even as they flee the oncoming storm. The shinobi out and about aren't carrying nearly as many weapons as they were the last time he looked, as he and his team were leaving for Ame. Fewer weapons and less tension, and they walk more easily, no longer so tightly contained. It's…good.

It would be better if they hadn't left Ame a war-torn ruin full of traumatized civilians behind them, but Jiraiya pushes that thought down and buries it. He's done what he can to help, given hope to the next generation, and that will have to be enough.

With a rattling clatter against the roof tiles, the rain starts in earnest, the former bare sprinkling becoming a deluge in the space of a breath. Jiraiya curses and changes direction, ducking into the closest restaurant before he can get completely soaked. For all that Ame lives up to its name, the rain there is steady and light, more heavy mist than anything. It has nothing on a good Konoha rainstorm. But that's fine, because reporting in can wait, and Jiraiya is hungry anyway, more than ready to see if the cakes in this place do justice to his memories of them.

The waitress seats him with a smile and offers him a menu, then leaves to greet the next customers as the bell over the door chimes. It's a safety precaution in a ninja village, having one—more often than not, if there's no bell, shinobi will slip in entirely unnoticed and either get fed up waiting to be seen or give the workers a heart attack by appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Jiraiya scans the offered items, half an ear cocked—as ever—towards his surroundings, though he feels secure enough in Konoha itself that he's not quite as alert as he would be otherwise.

"Damn, that's a heavy storm," a man says, but his tone is entirely cheerful. "Came out of nowhere."

"Only if you failed to read this morning's weather report. Or somehow missed the threatening black clouds that have been moving across the sky for the last eight hours," another man retorts, a lighter voice than the first, tenor instead of bass, and…familiar. Jiraiya freezes, his fingers tightening on his menu, because it's _very_ familiar and yet, to hear it here, in a public setting, _joking_ with someone who isn't Tsunade or himself—

"Here, take him for a second and I'll see if they have an extra towel or something," the first says, even more cheerful than before, as though the biting sarcasm in the other's words is amusing instead of disparaging and cutting. Jiraiya had thought he was the only one who could do that.

"I," the familiar voice answers sharply, "am not in any way your nanny, you ungrateful mongrel."

That gets him a laugh, bright and warm—_astonishingly_ warm, given who it's directed at. "But he likes you better than me," is the cheery rejoinder. "See, look—he's stopped frowning."

A sigh, put-upon and holding a thin, almost entirely hidden undercurrent of amusement. "Well. At least he doesn't take after you in temperament. I have no doubt that dealing with _two_ idiotically happy menaces would drive me to suicide. Or homicide."

"You know you adore us, lovely. Someday I'll even make you admit it out loud." That, too, is almost mind-bogglingly warm, and the fondness in it unmistakable even without the (slightly horrifying) nickname.

"Call me that _one more time_ and I'll—" A child's happy babble interrupts the threatening hiss, and the man sighs. "Clearly, you've inherited your father's self-preservation skills, cub. I mourn for you already." Another happy noise, more words that Jiraiya, not fluent in baby-babbling, can't quite make out, and another sigh. "Go make yourself useful and get a towel. We're leaving a puddle on the floor."

"Yes, sir." It's still merry, still easy the way no one _ever_ is around—

Unable to stand it, Jiraiya finally twists in his seat enough to see the door, and has to swallow a noise of complete and utter shock.

It really is Orochimaru standing there, just as pale and eerie-looking as he was when he and Tsunade left Ame, clad in his usual kimono shirt and dark pants. His hair is longer, almost waist-length, and in his arms is a child. A toddler, falling somewhere between the age of five months and five years—because Jiraiya's never had much experience with children younger than that, and can't pinpoint it more precisely—with a shock of silver hair, who's clinging to Orochimaru with rather mystifying enthusiasm. Orochimaru is watching him with a well-hidden smile, just a bare tilt of his lips, but it's more than anyone but Tsunade and Jiraiya usually get. Far more, and…a little unsettling.

The child reaches up and latches onto one glossy strand of raven hair, tugging at it with a serious look. "Want," he says. "Oro. I want juice." He wraps the lock of hair around his small fist and tugs again.

Orochimaru winces, and Jiraiya tenses, considers leaping up and saving the kid from whatever retribution is coming, but then the brunet simply sighs, reaching up with one hand to cover the child's. "Gentle," he admonishes. "Be gentle, Kakashi. We'll get you juice, I promise, just as soon as your father gets back."

(Jiraiya has a sudden, horrifying thought: if this kid has a father, does that make Orochimaru the _mother_?)

"Oro," the kid says again, though this time it's more cheerful than demanding, and grabs for more hair. Orochimaru rolls his eyes and lets him.

"I can't wait," he tells the boy, "until you're actually a fully-functional person. Which means that you can't take after your father, or I won't be able to hold a real conversation with you until you're in your sixties."

"How cruel," the bass voice from earlier jokes as its owner rejoins them. Hatake, Jiraiya thinks, though he can't remember the man's given name, still slightly dazed from trying to put _Orochimaru_ and _small_ _child_ together with the words _tolerates a _in between. It just…doesn't compute. "Are you badmouthing me to my son behind my back, Orochimaru? That's underhanded and exceedingly devious."

"_Shinobi_," Orochimaru reminds him, one hair shy of withering, and that's still far kinder than what Jiraiya has ever heard him direct at someone outside their team. "After almost thirty years, one would hope you would be used to such things, mutt."

Hatake laughs again, free and bright, reaching out and dropping a thick towel over Orochimaru's head.

Jiraiya braces himself for a bloodbath.

What he gets instead is an exasperated sigh and Orochimaru tugging the length of cloth away to glare at the silver-haired man, though his hands are gentle as they start to dry off the kid. "Why do I even put up with you?" he demands.

Well, that's what Jiraiya would like to know.

"Come on," Hatake says lightly, taking hold of Orochimaru's elbow and steering him over to a table, where the waitress is waiting. She looks aside as Orochimaru slips past her, but doesn't flinch away, and…Jiraiya wonders at that, too. It's always been bad, when Orochimaru is out in public—it's one of the reasons he's such a loner, has always secluded himself in his lab or the library. But this—

Either the woman has exceptional nerves for a civilian, or something has managed to change. That too is a mind-boggling thought, because surely Jiraiya wasn't gone for _that_ long. Surely.

Hatake laughs again, though Jiraiya missed what Orochimaru said to cause it, and reaches across the table to grip Orochimaru's wrist in a light, clearly fond hold. And Orochimaru _doesn't make him let go_.

If Jiraiya himself tried that, he'd probably get a kunai through his hand, or at least a shuriken pinning his sleeve to the table if Orochimaru was in a particularly forgiving mood. He _hates_ being touched.

Except, apparently, by Hatake Sakumo and his toddler son, who is even now perched on Orochimaru's lap like it's his favorite place in the world.

Gibbering. Gibbering madness sounds _ridiculously_ appealing right now. Then all of this will make sense, right?

"Oro," the kid—Kakashi? But who in their right mind would name their son _scarecrow_?—says again, reaching up and latching on to something besides hair, through Orochimaru still winces. "Oro. No sweet. _No._"

Orochimaru reaches up and carefully tugs at the small, chubby hand. Jiraiya can see a flash of blue stone between their tangled fingers—Orochimaru is still wearing the tomoe earrings, then. He always has, since the first day Jiraiya gave them to him, and that's just as mystifying as everything else, because Orochimaru is hardly one for sentiment. "_Gentle_, Kakashi," he chides again, pulling the boy away. "Or you'll have to sit with your father."

Hatake is grinning at them, obviously amused, though his eyes are soft. "I love that you say that like it's a punishment," he jokes, but releases Orochimaru's wrist to lean over the table and distract his son. "Hey, cub. Still not a fan of sweets? That's okay. We can get you a roll or something, huh? Curry bread?"

"You can't give him curry bread, it will upset his stomach." Orochimaru sounds exasperated again. He shifts Kakashi to a slightly different position, then pulls a square of paper from his weapons pouch and waves it gently. "Would you like an animal, Kakashi?"

The boy looks incredibly serious as he stares at the paper, then demands, "Oro. Make a dog!"

"Please," Orochimaru reminds him. "You must say please when you ask for something." He gets an entirely unimpressed look in response and rolls his eyes. "We'll work on that, then." But regardless, he places the paper on the table and begins folding it, hands quick and deft.

"I don't understand the dog obsession," Hatake says, a touch of wounded pride in his voice. "Wolves are our clan animal. Aren't they cooler?" That last bit comes out almost plaintive.

Orochimaru just rolls his eyes again. "_Canines_ are your clan animal," he reminds the older man as the origami takes shape under his fingers. "And he's entitled to pick any type he wants. Just because _you_ get along so well with those flea-bitten—"

"My wolves don't have _fleas_!"

"_Those wild animals_ you call summons doesn't mean your son is required to as well."

Hatake huffs, sinking back in his seat now that Kakashi's attention is fixed solely on Orochimaru's swift hands. "As someone whose main summons tries to _eat you_ every time you call him up, you have no room to talk," he protests.

"Manda is…opinionated," Orochimaru says blandly, which is a big fucking understatement if Jiraiya has ever heard one. That snake is _insane_. "He is also very reliable, and does not _slobber_, unlike some summons I could name." He sets the little origami dog down in front of Kakashi with a flourish, because Orochimaru always has and forever will be a grand, showy bastard. "Here. What will you call this one, cub?"

It takes Jiraiya a second to realize that Orochimaru is talking to the kid. That he has a _nickname_ for someone beyond simply _bastard _or _moron_. What the hell?

Kakashi picks up the toy, startlingly careful for a toddler, and studies it with intense concentration. After a long moment, he looks up at Orochimaru and beams. "Woof," he declares.

"That's a very good name for a dog," Orochimaru agrees gravely, and then glances up. His gaze locks with Jiraiya's, golden eyes going wide as he freezes without a sound. Instantly, Hatake is on his feet, tense in a way that speaks of protectiveness beyond the usual for a simple comrade, of regular threats met, and he doesn't relax when he realizes what Orochimaru is looking at. Instead, he gives Jiraiya a sharp, almost angry look, at odds with his formerly cheerful expression. Then, in a blur if movement, he grabs Orochimaru by the elbow, hauls him to his feet as the Snake Sannin clutches Kakashi to keep from dropping him, and all but drags them right out the door, heedless of the storm still raging.

Jiraiya watches the small group—family? But it kind of makes his brain hurt to think that word in connection to _Orochimaru_ and a _kid_—disappear, and stays where he is, head spinning and thoughts a jumbled mess.

_What?_

* * *

><p>That jumbled mess doesn't get any better when he drags himself in to report to the Hokage, because apparently Dan is <em>dead<em> and Tsunade is _gone_, has left the village without any intention of returning. Sarutobi, who looks about ten years older than Jiraiya remembers him, rather than three, has been attempting to keep tabs on her and Dan's niece, who's with her, but Tsunade isn't one of the Sannin for nothing and keeps shaking her tails.

Dan is dead. Jiraiya was fond of him, liked him far better than any of Tsunade's other beaus, and he'd been solid and steady and wise beyond his years. But now he's dead and Tsunade is _gone _and _not coming back_. Jiraiya rubs his palms over his face and tries to straighten out his thoughts, because that's one hell of a lot to take in. She's related to two Hokages, was trained by a third, and in the back of his mind Jiraiya always expected her to be at very least the Hokage's wife, since Dan was pretty much a shoe-in for the position. But now…

Now she's not, and he wasn't even _here_. He didn't even _know_. Maybe there's nothing he could have done, but…maybe there was. Maybe this is his fault for taking off like that, for leaving his teammates behind.

Damn it.

"And…Orochimaru?" he asks after a moment, because he can't _not_. "I…saw him in the village. With a _kid._"

(Another unsettling, vaguely horrifying thought: are Orochimaru and Hatake _dating_? Are they _married_?)

That eases the lines in Sarutobi's face, if only slightly, and he taps his pipe against his lips to hide his small smile. "Ah, yes. Sakumo and his son seem to have adopted him. He was in a rather dark place after Dan's death and Tsunade's departure, but they've helped him. Likely more than any of them know." His expression is warm and fond, because Orochimaru has always been the genius on their team, the prodigy. Always favored. Jiraiya resented him for it, once, until he saw how the rest of Konoha treated him. That cured it pretty quickly.

"But," Sarutobi continues, and there's a dark note in his voice that makes Jiraiya jerk his eyes back up and pay attention, because that's Sarutobi's I'm-worried-and-pissed-off-that-I-have-to-be-worried tone. "There have been…incidents on Orochimaru's missions lately. Not every mission, but enough. Near misses, misleading or false intelligence, informants who turn traitor, double agents—nothing that's exactly out of the ordinary, taken alone, but all together…either Orochimaru has the worst luck of any shinobi I've ever encountered, or someone is attempting to sabotage him."

Jiraiya remembers Hatake's almost instantaneous defense, the way he stepped in front of Orochimaru as though to block a blow, and feels a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Someone sabotaging Orochimaru? That's…bad. And not just because of Orochimaru's likely reaction when he finds the culprit. Mission knowledge is confined to a handful of shinobi, and _always_ kept in-village. So it's more than likely one of their own attempting to kill him. Subtly, indirectly, but it's definitely an attempt on his life, and who knows how many times they've nearly succeeded by now.

Another helping of guilt to lay at Jiraiya's feet, then.

_Damn it_.

Jiraiya has no idea what to do, no idea how to make this better.

Futilely, angrily, with enough self-directed loathing to choke him, Jiraiya wonders if he could even if he tried.

* * *

><p>Kakashi is asleep, curled up in a nest of blankets the way he always manages to do no matter how they lay him out. The rest of the house is silent but for the tick of the clock and the soft creak of the foundations settling, and Sakumo…regrets it.<p>

He's never been all that good with words.

(_The Hatake Clan Curse_, his mother always called it, laughing at his father who laughed sheepishly right along with her.)

Orochimaru is seated on the ground in front of his chair, leaning back against the arm, and nearly a year ago Sakumo would have counted this his greatest victory, the aloof and dismissive Snake Sannin unbent enough to relax in his company, to drink sake with him like any other man. But over the course of those ten months, he's learned that Orochimaru _isn't_ like any other man—he's a genius, bad with people and all but dependent on having someone with him to act as a buffer. Otherwise he's the snake that he emulates, picking at sore spots in the psyche, twisting people's words, getting reactions because they fascinate him and he can't quite comprehend why it's wrong to indulge his curiosity.

Sakumo has been that buffer ever since Orochimaru grudgingly accepted his presence as something that couldn't be changed or done away with. He's gotten Sarutobi to include Orochimaru in his squad whenever possible, has tried to make sure their leave lines up and that Orochimaru knows he's always, always pack.

It's been working, he thinks, surveying the dark head turned away from him, the long fall of raven hair hiding any hint of expression. Or it _had_ been working, and there's a spark of anger in his chest, a surge of protectiveness that the mere _sight_ of Jiraiya could send Orochimaru back into his shell, make him brood like this. Because Jiraiya abandoned his packmate, left for whatever reason no matter how good, and that's _not what you do_. Maybe other people, non-Hatake people, think of it differently, but Sakumo can't imagine why they would. Because surely, surely, abandonment is a bad thing, right? Surely it's not good form to leave a packmate on his own in dangerous territory.

(And Konoha _is_ dangerous, to Orochimaru. It's his home, but only vaguely. A place to rest, a place to eat, a place where ancestors are buried—but that's not _enough_, not for someone used to a pack.)

Sakumo had thought he was doing well, integrating Orochimaru into his own pack. Orochimaru is fond of Kakashi, though he'd been at a loss as to what to do with a baby at first. But Sakumo was telling the truth when he said Kakashi liked Orochimaru better—the cub cries more often when Orochimaru is gone, won't be quieted as easily. Orochimaru treats him like a slightly short person rather than a baby, and Kakashi, who is already far smarter than he should be at just-barely-two, clearly enjoys that. He likes the Sannin's origami animals, his pretty seals and the way he can shape wind and earth with simple movements. And for his part, Orochimaru seems to accept Kakashi in a way that's more than just tolerance, though he's yet to admit to anything resembling fondness.

They're a pack. They're a pack, established and steady after almost a whole year, and now Jiraiya has returned and thrown that into turmoil.

Sakumo strangles the growl that wants to rise, tamps it down and instead looks up as the man in front of him stirs.

Slowly, carefully deliberate, Orochimaru sets his glass on the table and shifts, turning until he's all but pressed up against Sakumo's knees. There's nothing in his expression that screams _drunk_, and Sakumo has been dragged home from the bar by an exceedingly irritated Snake Sannin enough times to know that Orochimaru's tolerance is Tsunade-trained and pretty much unbeatable. But…but this is more openness in his expression than Sakumo has ever seen. Not vulnerability, because Orochimaru has probably never in his _life_ been vulnerable to _anything_, but…

Rawness, Sakumo thinks sadly, raising a hand to stroke over impossibly thick, silken hair. Orochimaru leans into the touch, just slightly, but enough to be telling. Enough that when he rises up on his knees, all but sliding up Sakumo's body and then settling in his lap, Sakumo doesn't resist. Even when Orochimaru reaches out, slides a hand around the nape of his neck and pulls him into a slow, gentle kiss.

Sakumo doesn't close his eyes, because he knows that if he does this will get out of hand. Already, even with all of the evidence literally in front of him, it's far too easy to imagine that the lips against his are fuller, the chest pressed to his softer, the hips beneath his hands curvier. Orochimaru is warm and lean and the fall of his hair is a heavy, silken weight against the backs of Sakumo's hands where they rest at the Sannin's waist. And he kisses like it's the most fascinating thing in the world, an exploration, a challenge, a study of the unknown. Dangerously easy, then, to get caught up, to give in and do something that they'll both regret later.

With a soft, resigned sigh against insistent lips, Sakumo slides his hand up to cup Orochimaru's pale cheek and gently pulls away. He shakes his head with a sad smile and leans in to rest his forehead against Orochimaru's, feeling the long-forgotten, nostalgic tickle of someone else's breath against his skin and filling his nose with Orochimaru's scent of faint jasmine and just a touch of green tea and good sake.

There's a long, grim pause, and then Orochimaru sighs, too. "I'm…sorry," he says at length, as though the words are entirely unfamiliar to him. They probably are, the standoffish bastard, Sakumo thinks with a hint of fond amusement. But the man's tone is tense, just about to devolve into stiffness, and that's not something he's going to allow.

"No," he counters softly. "Don't be. Orochimaru, you're my best friend. You're beautiful and smart and powerful, and anyone in the world would be lucky to have you. But I'm just not attracted to men. I'm sorry. If I was, it would be you, but—"

Orochimaru lays a finger over his lips, careful to keep the touch light, but at least some of the lines around his purple-shadowed eyes have relaxed. "Insult to injury, Hatake," he says, though there's well-hidden amusement in the gold of his gaze. "Please, let me escape this incident with at least some of my dignity and self-respect intact."

Sakumo smiles sheepishly at him. "Right. Open mouth, insert extra-large foot. My apologies, Orochimaru."

That at least earns him a faint smile in return, the purple markings around Orochimaru's eyes catching the shadows and turning his face into something even more exotic than it normally is. He really is beautiful, and just for a moment, Sakumo wonders if maybe—

But no. No, that's a terrible idea, so he just tugs Orochimaru's head down to rest against his shoulder, one hand cupped around the back of his skull. It's an oddly delicate touch, a strangely intimate gesture that nevertheless has more to do with friendship than anything sexual. "I'm not the one you want," he says gently, and doesn't have to be looking at Orochimaru's face to see the way his eyes narrow sharply. He rolls his own eyes, because they've been friends long enough for him to be able to tell when Orochimaru is going to throw a fit over semantics.

"I don't _want_ that stupid oaf," Orochimaru huffs, right on cue, though tellingly he doesn't try to pull away.

Sakumo allows himself another smile, larger this time, because if Orochimaru can be indignant he's going to be just fine. "Need, then," he allows. "Maybe you don't want him, but after the last three years you can't deny that you _need_ him, Orochimaru. Not without lying."

Because Sakumo cares for Orochimaru, and he knows that no matter how tightlipped he is on the subject, no matter how cold and sharp he is to the rest of the world, Orochimaru cares for both him and Kakashi. But Sakumo has only really known him for a handful of months, is still trying to learn all of his tells. He can't know Orochimaru as well as his old teammates do, not without years of study. And Orochimaru needs that steady support, that understanding bred by familiarity, to stay strong.

Sakumo can be so very much for him, so very much _to_ him, but even he and Kakashi can't be everything.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rating: **T-ish

**Warnings: **Danzo, feelings, remembered parental death, dysfunctional people, family fluff, etc.

**Word Count: **~6000

**Pairings: **faintJiraiya/Orochimaru, brief Sakumo/Orochimaru

**Disclaimer:** Hah. I want some of whatever Kishimoto's been smoking, but Naruto's not mine.

**Notes:** So a lot of people have commented on the sudden burst of angst in the last chapter, and I wanted to give advance warning that, though most of my stuff is fluffy like a poodle, this story is definitely going to hit some rock-bottoms before everything gets better. In other words, if I was allowed a third genre tag, it would most definitely be _angst_. Just so you're ready. Still, there are a few more chapters before anything really heavy goes down. (In case anyone is scared, I'll remind you that I am _not_ one to kill off any characters except bad guys [Orochimaru doesn't count], and _am_ an unrepentant fan of happy endings.)

Also! Sakumo and Orochimaru's theme song in this fic is Tracy Chapman's _You're the One_. I heard it the other day and just started grinning to myself, because it _fits_.

* * *

><p><em><span><strong>A Snake In the Grass, A Wolf At the Door<strong>_

_**Chapter Three**_

Orochimaru returns from a mission to the north, twenty-eight days after Jiraiya's reappearance in Konoha, to find that they've given his former teammate a genin team.

"He has already proven that he does well enough with children," Sarutobi says during Orochimaru's debriefing, when he passes the news on. There's a wary sort of resignation in his voice, but it does little to ease Orochimaru's mind.

_He left_, Orochimaru wants to say. _He _left_ for _three years_, abandoned Konoha without so much as asking permission, and now that he's returned you _reward _him?_

In all truth, he can't even say why the thought of it unsettles him. Jiraiya has yet to seek him out—though, granted, there has been little time for such things, between him settling in and Orochimaru being called away—and the other man has already made it clear just how little priority he gives their old team. Perhaps it should be no surprise at all that Jiraiya is moving on, eyes already fixed on the next bright opportunity rather than the shadow that is his former teammate.

Sarutobi is still watching him, eyes dark and faintly sympathetic, though thankfully he offers no platitudes. "You encountered no problems?" he asks because if nothing else Sarutobi has always recognized the signs of Orochimaru's mind working, knows when he needs time and space to stew.

Gratefully, Orochimaru accepts the change of subject, inclining his head. "Only mild," he affirms, and after the complete disasters of his last four solo missions that's close enough to 'no trouble' to count. "There was increased security on the outpost, and I assume someone had warned them of an attempted infiltration, but I was able to get in and out unseen."

Sarutobi frowns worriedly, and Orochimaru is more than capable of seeing just what's going on, this quiet sabotage. Someone wants him either dead or disgraced, though he can't quite fathom why.

"Well," the Sandaime says with forced lightness. "You have three weeks' mandatory leave after this last spate of missions, and I believe Sakumo has time off as well. Do you have plans?"

Orochimaru shoots him a sharp look, clearly communicating that the old man is not nearly as subtle as he thinks he is, and then looks away, out the wide windows of the Hokage's office and to where the Academy class is just getting out. The children are…very small.

It's hard to remember that he was once one of them.

(Easier now, though, with Sakumo and Kakashi beside him.)

"I had thought to look for Tsunade," he admits after a long moment, conscious of the heavy silence lingering between them—unspoken words, he thinks, though he has no notion what they might be. "I heard passing mention of a blonde gambler with poor luck on my way back, and…I would like to know that she is—. She would like to know of Jiraiya's safe return."

As ever, Sarutobi doesn't call him out on the mid-sentence switch. He's quite familiar with Orochimaru's habits after nearly twenty years in close proximity. "Indeed," he says gravely, faint, wry amusement in the lines of his face. "It would ease my mind greatly if you could find her, Orochimaru. I will have a pass waiting for you tomorrow morning. But…please inform Sakumo before you leave. Last time you left without a word was…quite exciting for all involved. And little Kakashi will miss you terribly without a proper goodbye."

Orochimaru makes a face, because what Sarutobi is _actually_ saying is more along the lines of _let Sakumo accompany you or I will put you on diplomatic missions for the rest of the year_. Only Sarutobi would never be so upfront about it, and therefore feels entirely justified making use of base emotional blackmail.

There's a reason he's one of the few shinobi Orochimaru truly respects.

"I will…let him know," Orochimaru allows reluctantly, fighting a grimace. He is twenty-five, one of the strongest shinobi in any of the Elemental Countries, and does not need a _babysitter_. However, after a year of knowing Hatake Sakumo, Orochimaru is aware that if he vanishes, Sakumo will likely overturn the entire village and surrounding countryside in search of him, and not subtly either. Especially given the last four missions Orochimaru has been on, all of which have gone to hell in some truly spectacular ways.

Sarutobi doesn't quite say _I'll prepare another pass, then_, but it's hovering unspoken in the smile he fails to hide behind his pipe. "Very well, then," is all he says. "Consider yourself dismissed and on leave. Thank you, Orochimaru, and good work."

Orochimaru rises to his feet, carefully concealing the stiffness in his leg from the last near miss. A shallow wound, but a good part of the reason he hasn't protested his long leave. If Sarutobi notices—or, heaven forbid, Sakumo—those three weeks will likely become three months, and Orochimaru will truly go mad. He's not about to spend any more time trapped in the village with Jiraiya and all the things he represents than he absolutely has to.

Tsunade will know, if he finds her. Tsunade always knows.

He has…missed Jiraiya, these past three years, Orochimaru thinks, pausing outside the Administration Building. He's missed Jiraiya, but always with an edge of _if only_ added on. Because for all that Jiraiya is—was—to him, like a child Orochimaru has always wanted _more._ More of his attention, more of his time, more of his rivalry that's something very much like what Orochimaru assumes friendship to be. Just—more.

With Tsunade, though, it's not like that. Things are easier between them, and always have been. Tsunade is frequently exasperated and often violent, and has never treated Orochimaru with the edge of fear-amazement-awe that the rest of the village does. Even at their first meeting, she took one look at him, put her hands on her hips, and demanded to know why the hell he was so pale, and didn't he ever go out in the sun? Because Vitamin D was _important_, and she wasn't going to be stuck with an idiot who couldn't even remember that much.

Orochimaru had stared at her, stunned speechless, and Sarutobi had laughed. So had his mother, when he told her later.

It is…base association, to think of his mother when he thinks of Tsunade, though they hold different places in his life. His mother was tall and pale and willow-wand slender, with bronze eyes to Orochimaru's gold and the same raven hair, nothing at all like Tsunade in looks, but they both cared, both smiled in the same manner before something stole their smiles away.

Orochimaru's feet carry him to the cemetery without conscious thought, as thought of his parents always tends to do. He picks his way between the altars without pause, sure in his course after so very many visits here, and it is…a relief. Others might find the place eerie, especially in the descending twilight, but Orochimaru can't, not when this is where his parents are. He loved them to the point that it almost broke him when they died—together, the way they would have wanted it, but all the harder on an eight-year-old boy regardless of (or perhaps because of) his genius.

It's hard for him to remember their faces, sometimes. Harder still to remember scents and sounds, though he knows his father's voice was low and soft but deep, that his mother smelled of dry scales and oleander from the poisons that she brewed. She was pure-blooded, the last such of the clan, and his father was of Kiri stock, but they'd been happy together, strong and steady for all that they always stood slightly back from the rest of Konoha. Orochimaru had been a precocious child, he knows, quiet and tending more towards books than social interaction, and they had given him his space, let him be and yet always been there when he needed them.

Always, right up until the mission that took them away from him.

He crouches before the marker, pleased to see it's still free of weeds and dirt, and passes a gentle hand over the irises growing on either side of it, a purple so dark they're nearly black. Mildly poisonous, too—he likes to think his mother would approve. She was always so fond of natural poisons.

The white snakeskin he found here that first, terrible morning he woke up alone is still with him, still carefully preserved and kept under glass as a symbol of his resolve. He wants even now, seventeen years later, to see his parents again more than anything. Wise and kind and beautiful and deadly—he misses them, and ache and a wrench whenever he thinks of their absence, no matter how much time passes. But someday, when the wheel turns again, they'll be reborn, and Orochimaru will find them. He will. And until then, he'll be a shinobi, as they were, as they always wanted him to be, and he'll rise as high in the ranks as he's able to make them proud.

The sabotage will be dealt with. Orochimaru isn't the type to leave anything to chance.

A footstep crunches in fallen leaves, and Orochimaru raises his head, eyes narrowing in barely-hidden offence. This is a graveyard, hardly the place to talk of business, and there's nothing else this could be. After all, he and Shimura Danzo have no other reason to be speaking.

"You're a difficult man to find, Orochimaru," Danzo says, his voice affable, though there's some sort of undercurrent that Orochimaru can hear but not quite make out. "Hiruzen has been keeping you busy, I see."

Orochimaru wonders if the man will take a hint if he remains silent, crouched before a grave, but he doubts it. Danzo only shows tact when it suits him.

"I am a shinobi," he says after the silence stretches for a long moment, thick with something that's almost anticipation. "I go where I am needed, when I am sent." Another moment, and he pushes smoothly to his feet before turning to face the older man, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest. That's Jiraiya's gesture, and never has the same effect when Orochimaru uses it. "Did you need me for something, then?"

Danzo smiles at him, and a gesture that should be warm and wise is only flat and hard. Orochimaru supposes he's grown accustomed to Sakumo and Kakashi's smiles—warm and open and clearly happy. "I had heard," he says, voice heavy with concern, "that you have been having…trouble on your missions, Orochimaru. After assessing the situation, the only conclusion I can come to is a distressing one indeed. And I'm afraid the culprit can only be a Konoha nin, someone strategically placed in the Records or Assignments division. I thought it best to warn you, before you risk yourself again."

The wound in Orochimaru's thigh, where a kunai from a supposedly loyal informant had stabbed deep into the muscle, twinges and flares with pain. He doesn't let it show on his face or in his body, but it takes more effort than it should not to flinch. Over the last year, more missions than not have gone abruptly off course, and Orochimaru is very, very tired of it. He's good at what he does, brilliant at being a shinobi even if being a _person_ is harder, and he can usually manage to turn things around well enough to accomplish his task, but often it's been far too close for comfort.

It started with the mission to retrieve Sakumo's team, and Orochimaru can still see it in his mind, Sakumo sprawled out on the ground and bleeding from the gut, his face leeched of color and his eyes too dark for his face. That was the first incident, but not the last.

Too close, too many times, for both Orochimaru and those around him. He hasn't dealt with the situation yet, hasn't tried more than perfunctorily to hunt down the culprit, and a large part of that is not wanting to find that it is indeed a Konoha shinobi—one of his _comrades_—plotting all of this.

But Orochimaru is suspicious, not just by training but by nature. He likes to twist words, to push at people until they move the way he wants them to, and because of that he always expects the same of others until proven otherwise. Sakumo is perhaps the only person in the village from whom he expects blunt, straightforward honesty, as the other man has shown that particular trait many times over. But Danzo is not like Sakumo, not in the least, and Orochimaru can already feel his hackles going up.

(Too much time spent with the Hatake Clan and their damnable summons, he thinks to himself with faint, wry amusement.)

Maybe, had he been injured on that first mission with Sakumo, as he was clearly supposed to be, he would be too much in pain, too deeply mired in his anger to consider the whys of Danzo coming to him. But Sakumo took that blow for him, could have died from it, and right now Orochimaru is entirely clearheaded and capable of a possibly-more-than-healthy dose of suspicion.

Danzo shouldn't be asking these questions. He shouldn't have access to the records, shouldn't be approaching Orochimaru instead of the Investigations squad if he does. This isn't how Konoha is supposed to work, but then, Danzo has always skirted the very edges of the laws—Sarutobi has complained about it more than once.

But he says nothing, keeps his peace and waits the other man out.

And, indeed, barely ten seconds later Danzo is stepping forward, dropping a broad, firm hand on Orochimaru's shoulder in a fatherly motion that Orochimaru _loathes_, especially done here, before his real father's grave. "I would like to invite you to join my special squad," Danzo says warmly, though the emotion in his voice doesn't reach his eyes. "Root, they're called. We look out for our own, Orochimaru. If you accept, we can find this traitor and bring them down."

_Ah_, Orochimaru thinks, eyes narrowing as the pieces connect. _So this is what he's after._

He sees it, understands the manipulation in a way he usually wouldn't. Perhaps it's been good for him after all, spending so much time around Sakumo and those Sakumo calls his friends. Now, Orochimaru can recognize what's supposed to be on a face, what emotions are typical. Even more importantly, he can also see the lack of them.

The only thing in Danzo's eyes is greed.

"I will think on it," Orochimaru murmurs, even as he takes a step back and slides smoothly out of Danzo's grasp. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I have another mission to prepare for."

"Consider the offer carefully," Danzo says, almost chiding as his eye narrows faintly. "I believe you would do very well in Root, my boy. You have potential, but right now you are a dulled blade. Root will sharpen you, make you _more_ than you are now. You could be great, greater than your teammates by far. I'll be waiting for your answer." He inclines his head politely, then turns and walks away, surefooted over the uneven ground despite the cane in his hand.

Orochimaru watches until Danzo is out of sight and beyond the range of all senses, and then he turns, takes four steps, and vanishes in a whirl of leaves.

* * *

><p>The sky is violet-grey, the horizon just touched with gold where the sun is sinking the last few millimeters below the horizon, and the nighttime breeze is picking up, cool and scented with jasmine. Twilight turns the plants and paths of the garden to gilded shadows, and Sakumo knows that he should pick Kakashi up and start heading in for the night, but he's too relaxed, too peaceful. Kakashi also looks perfectly content, sprawled on his stomach in the soft grass as he plays with the pack of origami dogs Orochimaru has made for him. Sakumo watches him bark and growl softly as he moves the small paper creatures in incomprehensible patterns, and smiles to himself, because this is a moment of inner peace he'd never thought to have after the death of his wife.<p>

Hatake Clan members tend to mate for life, and have a habit of following each other to the grave. When she had died, Sakumo had felt as if his entire world had been wrenched away from him, and he had…floundered. Only Kakashi, newborn and helpless, had been enough to keep him on solid ground, because Sakumo loved her, yes, but that wasn't the only problem. He needs to be needed, needs it with an intensity that leaves him reeling and breathless, especially since his wife's death. Without that, without some form of regard from his fellows, without knowledge that he is in some way valued and valuable—

Well. Without that, Sakumo supposes that he would not be anything at all.

Perhaps it is shallow, perhaps it is the height of foolishness, but a wolf pushed out of his pack is quick to fade away entirely.

(He remembers seeing it happen before, with his mother after his father's death. He'd been newly made a chuunin, considered adult by the rest of the village and therefore no longer in need of parents, and she had grown quieter and quieter with each day, had spent her nights prowling through the too-big, too-empty house instead of sleeping. And then one day she'd come to him, dressed in her ANBU gear with her jackal mask strapped to her belt, and she'd smiled at him, kissed his cheek, and said goodbye, and then left on her mission.

Only a corpse had come back.)

But he isn't floundering anymore. Now he has Orochimaru in addition to Kakashi, Orochimaru who is quick-tempered and haughty and yet still loyal, with a slyly hidden and often macabre sense of humor. Who is gentle with Kakashi when he thinks no one is watching, and skilled at healing no matter how talented he is at killing. Who _needs_ someone to care for him even if he himself can't see it, needs an anchor and a tether and some sort of bond to remind him that he's human, too, and not just a detached observer playing god.

Sakumo stretches his arms above his head, twisting slightly to pop his spine, and then flops back with a contented huff, relishing the cool of the grass on his skin. He's looking forward to his three weeks of leave, even more so than normal, because for the first time in two years he has someone besides his infant son to share the time with. It will be good, and it comes at just the right time. Any longer a stretch and Sakumo would have to sit on Orochimaru or something of the sort. The proud bastard thinks he's been hiding his exhaustion well, but Sakumo has come to know him, and can see the lines of stress that lie deeper than normal around his eyes.

"Oro for dinner?" Kakashi asks, and Sakumo blinks his eyes open to see his son standing on startlingly steady legs above him, looking down. He takes a moment to work through the boy's words, because he's fairly certain that Kakashi isn't advocating to have the Snake Sannin as their main course, but once he does, he smiles. "Probably," he affirms, reaching up to offer Kakashi a hand. "But he's got a meeting with the Hokage first, so we'll have to wait a bit."

Kakashi eyes the hand with clear disdain, then turns and makes his (slightly wobbly and awkward) way back to his toys, where he sits down hard, shakes it off as though it was intentional, and returns to his game. Sakumo chuckles to himself, because that was _definitely_ an expression picked up from Orochimaru, and murmurs to himself, "Ouch. What a burn."

"You're coddling him and you expect any different?" a low, sharp voice says, familiar and welcome, as an equally familiar figure steps out from behind a fall of wisteria. "Aren't you the one insisting he's going to be a prodigious shinobi? Try _treating_ him as one, mutt."

Sakumo sits up and opens his mouth to protest, then immediately snaps it shut again as his eyes narrow. Orochimaru is even paler than normal, so pale that Sakumo can actually see the furious flutter of his pulse in his throat and temples, blood dark under the skin. Golden eyes are dilated, blank, when Orochimaru hasn't successfully hidden anything from him in months. There's no tremble in his hands—too much a shinobi for that—but Sakumo suspects that there would be if he had an ounce less iron control.

Sakumo has never seen him like this, not in an entire year of friendship, and he can safely say he doesn't like it. At _all_.

"Orochimaru?" he demands, rising smoothly to his feet, and it's no surprise at all that his voice is a bare decibel above a growl. "What happened?"

"Oro!" Kakashi says before the Sannin can answer, climbing back to his feet and all but hurling himself at Orochimaru's legs. "Oro, stay for a night? Play with me!"

There's a long, long pause, and then, very slowly, Orochimaru bends down and scoops Kakashi up in his arms, hoisting him into his customary position on Orochimaru's hip. Kakashi laughs, latching onto Orochimaru's hair, and then adds, "Play seek and find! Please, Oro?"

For another moment, Orochimaru's blank mask holds. Then, with a long, soft sigh, he wraps his arms a touch more firmly around the little boy and murmurs, "I'm sorry, cub. Not tonight." He looks up, meets Sakumo's gaze over Kakashi's head. "I am…leaving. Something has come up, and I have a lead on Tsunade's whereabouts that I must follow."

It doesn't escape Sakumo's notice that Orochimaru has entirely failed to answer his question. He has no idea what could have happened, though after the events of the past year he no longer has quite as much faith in the fact that their presence in the village will prevent anything. And the way Orochimaru is acting—

On anyone else, Sakumo might call it "shaken".

The decision is easily made, settled in an instant. He steps forward, catches Orochimaru by the elbow with his best genial smile, and tugs him towards the house. "Dinner's waiting," he says, and plows on even as Orochimaru tenses further and opens his mouth to protest. "Let's eat, and then I'll pack Kakashi's things and we can be on our way before full dark."

"The Hokage—"

"Won't mind us leaving without passes, just this once. And if he does, you can just blame it on me and a whim. Don't worry, lovely. It won't take that much longer, and then you'll be on the road with a good meal under your belt and two fearsome warriors to watch your back." He winks at Kakashi, who giggles in answer and winds his arms around Orochimaru's neck.

"We go?" the two-year-old asks interestedly, and Sakumo grins. Kakashi's always been the adventurous type, though he has yet to venture further than Konoha's fringes. Normally, Sakumo leaves him with a nurse for long trips out of the village, and Kakashi bears such things with good grace. Given Orochimaru's current state, however, Sakumo suspects that a bit of a buffer from unpleasant thoughts might be welcome, and there are few better than an eternally curious toddler.

Orochimaru studies Sakumo for a long moment, purple-edged eyes narrow and assessing, and then he sighs, reaches up with his free hand, and gently ruffles Kakashi's hair.

"Yes, cub," he says, somewhere between resignation and humor. "We're going."

* * *

><p>True to his (somewhat infuriating, Sakumo will allow) character, Orochimaru says nothing at all about their sudden departure until they're several hours from Konoha, heading northeast at a fast clip. Kakashi is too young for them to take to the branches with any regularity, and he's almost too big to tolerate a sling, but the added incentive of being carried on Orochimaru's back—with constant access to his hair and a clear view of what was ahead of them—had kept him complacent until the late hour took its toll. Sakumo is a little offended that he's second best, yet again, in his son's estimation, but the indignity is eclipsed by the humor of the image.<p>

After all, the much-feared Snake Sannin is only slightly less fearsome when sporting a sleeping toddler and some drool in his hair. It takes very, very much effort not to laugh, but Sakumo knows _exactly_ what Orochimaru is likely to do to his hide if he does.

However, adorableness of the image aside, Sakumo isn't about to let his friend get away with that earlier brush-off, and makes sure that Orochimaru knows it, sending him short, sharp looks whenever they pull level as they run. And after several repetitions of this, Orochimaru finally gives in with a disgusted huff and a hard roll of his eyes.

"You haven't a subtle bone in your body, have you, Hatake?" he grouches, but Sakumo is aware that the only reason Orochimaru is complaining is that he feels safe enough to do so, rather than keeping the aloof and icy façade he adopts around the rest of Konoha, and takes it as the compliment it really is.

"I don't think I know that word," Sakumo agrees cheerfully, because this far from the village, the tension is finally easing out of Orochimaru's shoulders, and that's a definite step in the right direction. "It's foreign, right?"

"To you, most definitely," the Snake Sannin mutters, but it's said with a certain measure of well-hidden fondness Sakumo knows that, besides him and Kakashi, only Sarutobi, Jiraiya, and Tsunade have earned. There's a pause as they navigate the rapids of a rain-swollen river, and then Orochimaru makes a sound in the back of his throat that Sakumo _knows_ he picked up from one of the wolf summons and says, "I…believe I know why my missions have been going poorly."

"Poorly" is an understatement. Were Orochimaru anyone else, he would have died ten times over in the last year, and that's only counting the solo missions. Sakumo makes sure that Orochimaru takes as few of those as possible, but even that much prevention isn't enough. He grits his teeth, trapping another growl in his throat, and nods to show he's listening. It's not like he'd be doing anything else, honestly.

Orochimaru glances at him, huffs softly, and looks away—"embarrassed", Sakumo translates. Or, well, as close as Orochimaru can ever get, which is nearer to "mildly chagrined". "Danzo approached me," he continues flatly, though there's clearly something off in his tone. _Shaken_, Sakumo thinks again, though perhaps that's not quite right. "He wished for me to join the Root division of ANBU, to uncover the traitor."

It takes Sakumo a moment to connect the pieces—in his own defense, it's after midnight, and the previous day was very long. But there's a certain sidewise slant to Orochimaru's mouth that whispers disbelief, a suggestion of mistrust in the way he keeps his eyes fixed so firmly in front of them, and from there things come together easily.

Sakumo has encountered Danzo before. He's seen the man's morals at work, both on and off the battlefield—not that Danzo sees any difference between the two states, as far as he can tell. If he was indeed working to drive Orochimaru into his clutches…

He clenches his fists, tries to keep his temper and protectiveness and outrage all tightly contained. If Danzo managed to sink his claws into Orochimaru, who is five years younger than Sakumo but capable to becoming even more powerful, who doesn't quite seem to understand the need for morals or restraint or mercy—Sakumo doesn't even want to think about what Danzo could turn Orochimaru into. Orochimaru walks a knife's edge as it is. Add to that Danzo's manipulation, his desire for power—to keep Konoha safe, he says, but Sakumo has seen war, has seen peace, and knows which he prefers for his son to grow up in—and the Orochimaru who came out on the other side of Root's training would bear little resemblance to the one who went in.

A breath out, a breath in, again and once more for luck until Sakumo can fully control himself, and he says softly but implacably, "Tell him no."

Orochimaru doesn't look at him. "Somehow, Sakumo, I doubt Shimura Danzo is the type to accept such an answer easily."

Sakumo doesn't push. Nor does he deny the curl of warmth that rises in him at the use of his given name—this is the first time Orochimaru has ever called him by it. A step in the right direction, indeed.

He takes one more swift glance at his best friend and his son, at Orochimaru and his boneless grace and the way he's so very careful not to jar Kakashi. At the way Kakashi is tipped forward over Orochimaru's shoulder, comfortable with Konoha's snake summoner as he never is with his nurses, one hand fisted in night-dark hair as he dreams. This is his pack, his pack of three, hard-won and a little battered and very, very dear, and if Danzo wants to take any part of that away, Sakumo will fight him to his very last drop of blood and beyond.

He takes a breath, breathes out, and bounds two strides forward to run at Orochimaru's shoulder. "So can I ask where we're going?" he says cheerfully. "Or is that on a need-to-know basis?"

That gets him an eye-roll, as usual. Sakumo has only ever briefly been around Jiraiya and Tsunade, granted, but he kind of wonders how the three survived being on a genin team together without somebody ending up buried in the forest. Between Orochimaru's dry snark and aloofness, Tsunade's lack of patience and monstrous strength, and Jiraiya's cheerful perversion and effusiveness—well, they must have been very interesting to train, to say the least. If he didn't have any respect for the Sandaime before, that alone would be enough to earn it.

"There's a town," Orochimaru allows after a moment. "On the border of Rice Paddy Country. It's well-known for its sake, and Tsunade is nothing if not one to drown her sorrows. If rumor is anything to go by, she's there and losing all her money to the gambling dens."

That kills a lot of Sakumo's good humor, and he has to fight a frown. He is…biased, probably, but it seems cruel to him that Tsunade left without thought to her teammate, and is now indulging her vices in an attempt to forget while Orochimaru is being targeted by someone after his sanity if not his life. Not that Sakumo will say anything of the sort—he knows the softness that comes into Orochimaru's eyes when he mentions his female teammate, remembers in their first real conversation what Orochimaru said, how _fond_ he looked when he spoke of her teaching him medical ninjutsu. _Tsunade was insistent that Jiraiya and I learn at least the basics, before she would let us go off on solo missions_.

That, more than anything, had been what captured Sakumo's attention. Softness where none had been before, not _weakness_ or anything of the sort but _humanity_ in a man who was supposed to be a soulless monster. And he'd thought _'If they were wrong about this, what else could be false?_' Because it was a mystery, an enigma, something new and edged with a metal-death-dry-scales-forest scent that had been a puzzle of its own. Orochimaru had smelled like killing and loyalty, in equal measure, and it hadn't fit with what was said of him.

Little does, Sakumo knows now.

"So are we going to drag her back to Konoha?" he asks, keeping his voice light.

Orochimaru glances at him, clearly startled, as they round a bluff and hit one of the main roads. The Sannin slows slightly, adjusting Kakashi's sling as he contemplates his answer. "I…had not considered it," he says, eyes narrowing as they flicker to the waning moon above. "Tsunade had her reasons for vanishing. After Dan's death, there was nothing for her in the village. Moreover, there were too many memories. I do not blame her for leaving."

And yet the faint tilt of his mouth says he doesn't understand it, not really. After years and years of being told that loyalty to the village is everything, Sakumo doesn't blame him. Orochimaru sees things in a strange mixture of shades of grey with moments of black and white wound through in startling contrast. A good part of it seems to be his own strange morality allowing for things he's been told, Sarutobi's morals taken as unwavering truth when, if left to his own devices, Orochimaru would not deign to care about such things.

There and then, watching his best friend contemplate his former teammate and her disappearance, seeing the sharp slant of his brows and the darkness of his golden eyes, well.

Sakumo resigns himself to doing everything in his power to make sure that Tsunade accompanies them home. Not for himself, and not for Konoha, but for Orochimaru, who needs her in the way that a compass needs to know north. It's a feeling that Sakumo can understand all too well.

(But he wonders, just a little, because he's always been a bit selfish, what it will mean for his friendship with Orochimaru, and what will happen when Orochimaru regains all that he's lost. Maybe then Sakumo will be…replaceable.

He doesn't like the thought of that at all.)


End file.
